


License To Bang

by gala_apples



Series: LARPverse [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Character, Car Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha brought her car to school. Clint knows what that means. He's just got to get through his tutoring first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	License To Bang

“I drove to school today.”

Clint falters for a moment before resuming his daily deathmarch to Watt’s classroom. Natasha can’t be telling that because she wants to offer him a ride home. Walking it’s less than ten minutes from his locker to his front door. It would almost take longer to walk to her car and bicker over CD selection than the actual drive would. Still, he doesn’t want to be an asshole.

“Look, I’m trying to not be a presumptuous dudebro’y asshole jumping to conclusions, but-”

Natasha shakes her head with a bit of a smirk. “Jump away.”

Fuck yeah. He’s gonna get laid. Clint’s gonna get _so laid_ , and it’s going to be awesome.

She smirks harder as she turns the knob of the closed classroom door. “Just try to focus until after Breakfast Club, okay? You need to be here.”

Clint refuses to think of this as a Breakfast Club. 

For one thing it’s not really detention. It fits the technical definition of the word, to be kept in custody, but he can’t count how many times the guidance counselor stressed being here isn’t a punishment, it’s to help him. For another, Clint’s detainment isn’t in the morning, it’s after school. For another, it’s not over in a big chunk of weekend. He, along with everyone else either recruited or forced, is here every day for an hour. It’s an ongoing torture. A death of a thousand slivers, if you will.

Most importantly, the roles don’t fit. At least half the room’s got horrible parents, and there’s no one weird kid, or brain. That’s not to say that Clint wants to repeat that bullshit end voiceover about everyone being everything. There are very clear distinctions between them. There are the tutors and there are the teens that are failing. Anyone else would say the smart kids and the stupid kids, but that’s not accurate. Bruce is super smart, but he has an extreme anxiety disorder. If his parents were less shitty he’d be better off homeschooled. He misses at least one class a day having a panic attack. But he’s super smart. Loki’s also clever, but he’s the kind of student who reads the entire textbook the first week then skips every class out of sheer boredom. It’s a technique that’ll work just fine for him in university, but is technically illegal while he’s still in high school.

Clint knows he’s not stupid either. But it’s fair to say that he’s brought this upon himself. Clint’s not really self-destructive as much as he’s kinky without an outlet. He doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend to set up situations for him. Natasha doesn’t count. They have kind of a friends with benefits thing, but it’s not perfect. They’re affectionate; Clint’s gotten more one armed hugs from her in the last month than he got in his first five years of the foster care system. They know how to coax an orgasm out of the other, like ritual masturbation except with a second body. But they’ve got kinks the other’s not into. When it comes to the deep stuff, the kind of things that make a fire burn just thinking of them, they’re incompatible. He doesn’t want to bruise her, and she doesn’t want to embarrass him. So Clint sets up his own opportunities. He’ll paint himself into a corner, where he’s got no choice left but to do something humiliating. Most are just one shot opportunities. Teetering on the edge of a failing grade and not doing the assigned essay was a long term investment in humiliation.

So it’s definitely not the Breakfast Club. The title of it doesn’t matter though, not when he’s stuck here. A detention by any other name still sucks dick. In an un-fun way.

His after school hobby should be made a little better for the fact that Nat is here too. It isn’t. He doesn’t actually get to spend any time with her here. She’s tutoring Kurt in French. Meanwhile Clint’s across the room in a desk with Maria sitting backwards in front of him reading out the passages that might be relevant to his assignment. Like it’s that easy. If it was just a matter of rereading the text Clint wouldn’t have forty eight percent right now. He knows how to fucking read.

“Tony! Are you ready to go yet?” The words are out before the door is even all the way open. They belong to Pepper Potts, Tony’s supposed on and off girlfriend. From what Clint’s seen it’s more like they’re always on, they’re just into bickering, and aren’t big on PDA.

Tony looks up from where he’s sitting on top of the desk beside Bruce. It’s not the first place he sat today. It’s not even the seventh. Clint would bet a thousand dollars Tony couldn’t stay still if his life depended on it. Today he’s been moving more than normal though. Since Bruce misses so much and Tony’s schedule basically mirrors Bruce’s their tutoring time always ends up being a rehash of whatever happened in the class Bruce was in the guidance counsellor’s office during. Evidently Bruce missed English today because Tony’s got Shakespeare in hand, and is talking with his hands even more than usual.

There’s a distinct raised eyebrow in Tony’s voice when he begins to talk. “ _You_ , are asking _me_ , if I want to bail on the thing you convinced Obie to convince the principal to impose upon me to keep me from being expelled?”

“I thought up a new storyline for Jasper.” In a lesser woman it would be accompanied by a shrug, but Pepper Potts isn’t that sort of person.

Tony tosses his book onto the next desk over, where it skids to a stop against Bruce’s chest. “Annnd I’m done. Later.”

Bruce frowns. “But expelled? I don’t know what Pepper means, but can’t you talk here?”

Tony pauses, then claps Bruce on the shoulder, telegraphing it so he notices and doesn’t freak out. “Correction. Twenty bucks to everyone who leaves right now.”

Nearly everyone starts packing their binders up. It’s not a mass calling of Tony’s bluff. He’s totally the kind of guy that would have fifteen twenties in his wallet. He’s insanely stupid-rich, and no one has any idea why the fuck he’s going to a public school, besides maybe Pepper. Clint stays sitting because he’s too curious not to. Natasha hesitates, but takes the bill. Clint knows she knows he’ll relate everything, and she’ll buy him something at 7-11 to return the favour.

She’s one of the last out, leaving just Clint, Bruce and Loki, as well as Tony and Pepper. Tony’s got a soft spot for Bruce, but Clint expects him to throw a fit about Loki. He doesn’t. Not even close. Instead Tony stands up, then folds himself to perch on Loki’s desk. He doesn’t move an inch when Pepper puts down a map over his crossed legs.

For the first few minutes it seems like pure babbling. Then it’s not. It still doesn’t make sense specifically, but Clint understands in general that they’re RPing. One of the girls in his second foster placement liked to do the same. With that knowledge it officially stops becoming his job to remember their conversation. Natasha won’t demand a parroting of it. She’s not one for fantasy or sci-fi, and most RPs are one of the two. In fact, he doesn’t even need to be here. Ignoring the way Bruce looks at him -if he didn’t want to be alone with the three most ambitious people in the school he shouldn’t have stuck around- Clint slings his backpack over his shoulder and leaves.

He’s only half surprised that Natasha’s leaning against the bank of lockers opposite Mrs Watt’s door. Really it’s more surprising that Nat’s not in her car starting the proceedings herself, making the car smell like sex, not air freshener. Clint says as much as they start to walk to the parking lot. Natasha’s response is to stop and kiss his cheek, open mouthed and wet.

“That’s what you’re here for.”

Hers is one of maybe seven cars still in the lot. There’s no sports practice today, the hybrid gymnasium/theatre belonging to the actors on Monday, and nearly all of them are too environmentalist to own a car. 

“I love your car,” Clint says as he settles into the backseat.

“No you don’t. It’s a hunk of crap. Dante’s spent more time fixing it than Bethany Callen has spent waiting in a bathroom for her pee sticks to turn colour.”

Clint snorts. For all that it’s mean it’s totally true. “Honestly, she’d be better off if someone slipped birth control into her Mountain Dew every morning.”

“It’s true. But my point is you don’t love my hunk of crap car. You love what it represents.”

“Yeah, a license to bang.”

Natasha lightly headbutts him, then doesn’t move her head. She whispers “Jesus, Barton, with material like that I don’t know how you’re not raking in underwear,” against his face.

“Stop being a bitch and make out with me.”

Nat grinds her head a bit, increasing the pressure of their touching foreheads. “Love you too.”

From there it’s easy to turn his neck a little, part their foreheads so he can put his lips against hers. It’s the work of seconds to be convinced to open his mouth to her tongue. They both run submissive in different ways, but when it comes to kissing Clint tends to cede to her. If she wants to control the kiss that just means he gets to enjoy how much she’s enjoying things. Natasha must have been chewing gum during last period, her mouth still tastes citrusy. Clint tries to think of the order he ate his lunch in, and hopes whatever was last isn’t gross to her. 

Progress, if that’s the right word for it, is slow. It always is during carsex. Contrary to his joke earlier, banging actually happens in houses. Clint’s situation has two other fosters and a biological, as well as a nosy dog and parents. Natasha’s dad is a drug dealer, so the doorbell is always ringing. If they don’t want to be interrupted they have to be quick. In her car though they’ve got all the time in the world.

Eventually Nat angles her hips so that she can push her black skinny jeans down to her knees. She’s had her t-shirt off for a while, but this is all the better. She’s not wearing underwear. 

Clint grins. “You’re hot. Your vendetta against pantylines is hot.”

She laughs. “Glad you enjoy.”

He does. He definitely, _definitely_ enjoys being able to touch all of her. As he slides his hand between Natasha’s legs Clint goes back to biting hickeys onto her breasts. It’s the only kind of pain he can inflict without feeling weird. It’s not really enough for her, and she can barely attempt his kink at all, which is why dating would never work out. But in the car Clint can try for her. Take it easy, take it slow, and stop if the uncalled for guilt peaks too high.

The back of Clint’s hand rubs against the industrial velvet of the upholstery as he rocks two fingers in and out of her. They’re probably not going to fuck. Natasha isn’t pushing for it, and he doesn’t mind giving it a pass. Begging her wouldn’t make her feel pressured and unsafe, it would just make her feel squicky, and that’s nearly as bad. Clint wants her to feel everything that’s awesome, and nothing but awesome.

Clint knows Natasha is close when her fingers curl and she digs her fingernails into her thighs. The crescent moon flares of pain are just enough to send her over. Clint fucking loves to see her come. It’s so hot, she’s so beautiful. Which he says, he thinks he probably repeats it thirty times. Clint fills the entire car with the words until Nat stops clenching and comes down a little and can actually hear him.

All it takes is one press of the heel of Natasha’s hand to his still zippered jeans and Clint loses it. Coming practically untouched isn’t very humiliating when she won’t comment on it. In fact the first time she did Natasha told him it was hot that he liked her so much. But if Clint jerks off about this later tonight he can imagine a third occupant in the car, some hot girl or guy laughing at him, telling him how much of a slut he is for Natasha. And they’d be right.

“You’re fucking’ awesome,” he tells her breathlessly.

“You’re fantastically marvelous,” Natasha replies. “Now go grab the wet naps from the glove compartment while I get redressed, and then we can go to Sev.”

Yeah. She’s definitely badass, and pretty much the perfect best friend. Clint could almost be happy about the disastrous first fourteen years of his life, since they created the road that led him to her.


End file.
